


you are beautiful and peaceful this way

by nicheinhischest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicheinhischest/pseuds/nicheinhischest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek kicks Isaac out, and the only thing Isaac can think as he slams the door to the loft shut and makes his way down the stairs and outside is <i>of course it’s raining</i>. He hikes his bag further up his shoulder and runs until his feet lead him to the one person who hasn’t let him down yet.</p><p>He’s soaked by the time he gets to Scott’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are beautiful and peaceful this way

**Author's Note:**

> A prelude to Isaac/Scott, if you want to see it that way. (I want to see it that way.) Set directly after "Unleashed" so spoilers for that. This started because yesterday I went "haha I hope Mama McCall makes them pancakes in the morning with bacon shaped like a smile" and apparently I'm doing this thing now where I let Teen Wolf take over my life again. Listened to [this on repeat](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmlDWR1QGuk) while writing, which is probably relevant and also slightly painful??? IT'S A SHOW ABOUT TEEN WOLVES, I'M NOT SURE WHAT HAPPENED.

Derek kicks Isaac out, and the only thing Isaac can think as he slams the door to the loft shut and makes his way down the stairs and outside is _of course it’s raining_. Really, he expects no less - the world’s never given him a break, so why start now?

Before - when he'd just joined the pack, before, when his dad was drunk and pissed off and alive - he would’ve found a bench to sleep on at the park, maybe sneak into an abandoned home for warmth - now, now he doesn’t even think about it, just hikes his bag further up his shoulder and runs until his feet lead him to the one person who hasn’t let him down yet.

He’s soaked by the time he gets to Scott’s. 

He can hear two hearts beating inside the house, and a warm, maternal scent lingering in the air just beyond the door. It’s inviting, familiar in the most painful of ways, and for a moment he pauses on the steps and closes his eyes and pretends. 

(Maybe his hand’s shaking when he knocks, but no one will ever know that.)

Melissa McCall opens it with a smile, ready for whoever’s at the door, and it falls when she takes Isaac in - looking for all the world like the cold, wet mutt he is with his bag clutched in his grip - and she sags against the door, rests her head on its frame.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, and Isaac swallows down something sharp in his throat - tastes bitter, like loss and lament and bone-deep _weariness_ rolled into one - and tries to smile. He can’t even get his question out, barely makes it to _can I -_ before she pulls him by the front of his soggy shirt and envelops him in a hug. 

The door’s still wide open behind them; Isaac apologizes for dripping on her floor and she laughs and holds on tighter. 

She’s shorter than Scott by a few inches - he can see clear over her head - and when she steps away, she cups her hands to his cheeks. 

They’re small, thin, but rough and dry - the eternal sign of nurses everywhere: she’s worked hard for those hands, worked hard for Scott with those hands, and now she’s holding onto Isaac and looking up at him like he’s done nothing wrong - to be fair, this time he honestly _hasn’t_ \- and she smiles, just the smallest lift in the corners, seems at once sorry that he’s even had to come here and thankful that this is where he’s chosen to go. 

It should feel out of place to stand here in the entryway of Scott's home with Scott’s mom in silence, save for the _dripdrop_ of water rolling off of Isaac and the low hum of the radio in the kitchen.

It shouldn’t feel okay, but it is. 

Melissa lets her hands fall, says softly, “Scott’s upstairs - I’ll get you a towel to shower with; he’ll let you borrow clothes.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The question slips out before he can stop it; Melissa’d already started off towards the bathroom, he assumes, but she stops at that, turns around to look at him. She’s surprised - and, and there’s that sadness again. 

It’s not pity - he knows what pity looks like, saw it in Stilinski’s dad’s eyes the first time he’d asked Isaac where he’d gotten his black eye, saw it with his teachers, year in and year out, the ones who were too unsure and embarrassed to ask. This is pure empathy, emanating out of her like a tidal wave. 

(Scott had been like that, too, he remembers.)

“Because you’re Scott’s friend,” she tells him. “And you’re just a _kid_.”

A flare of anger bursts out of her on his behalf and Isaac doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He should’ve known - Scott’s protective streak had to come from somewhere.

“And,” she continues, “you don’t deserve to have a door slammed in your face. Who were you staying with? That Hale boy?”

He nods. Melissa’s face twists. 

“Your - Alpha?” 

The word sounds careful on her tongue - she’s still new to this, and he wonders just how much Scott’s told her. He nods again. 

“Isn’t he supposed to protect you?”

Isaac gives her a crooked smile. “Derek’s sense of leadership is... skewed.”

Melissa nods this time, shortly, like she’s filing away the details for another time. She moves again, gestures towards the stairs. “Scott’s in his room. It’s the - “

“I know,” Isaac interrupts gently, and when she cocks her head, he twitches his nose. 

“Right,” she says, amused. “Super sniffer.”

It’s such a Scott thing to say that he almost - _almost_ \- barks out a laugh, but he holds it in and heads upstairs instead. 

*

Scott’s doing homework when Isaac opens his door, has his books all laid out; then he’s staring wide-eyed up at Isaac, bemused, and Isaac - Isaac knows Scott’s mom all but said he can stay but he just - he wants to hear it from Scott’s mouth:

“I - I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

Scott waits a beat, and then his jaw clicks shut and he drops his pen on his notebook. 

“You can sleep in here - the sofa’s crap on your back,” he says, and Isaac closes the door and rests against it. “Dude, what happened?”

“Derek.”

Scott snorts, and his eyes narrow in the next moment; Isaac feels that stupidlovely flash of protectiveness Scott always seems to get around him. “Did he do something or what, because he might be bigger than me but I’ll kick his ass, Isaac -”

“He didn’t - I don’t know,” Isaac finishes lamely, and shrugs down at his shoes. He peeks at Scott, adds hesitantly, “He seemed - he was sort of angry, he threw -”

“He threw something at you?” Scott’s voice is deathly calm, and the grip he has on the back of his chair makes his knuckles shake. “Did he?”

“You’re going to break your chair,” Isaac says in response, and Scott looks down at his hands, takes a breath and lets them fall into his lap. There’s indentations in the wood. “I think something’s wrong, but he won’t tell me, so.”

Isaac lifts his shoulders again; Scott runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “What else is new? How does he expect to lead anyone when all he ever does is keep secrets? He’s not going to have a pack at all if he keeps this going - he _barely_ has one now.”

He blinks, looks up Isaac. “Are you cold?”

The change in mood throws Isaac off. He stutters out an, “Uh - no. Just, just wet.”

Right on cue, there’s soft knocking at the door - Isaac pushes off it, turns in time to see Melissa glancing in. “Hi, boys.” Scott leans forwards over the back of his chair, opens the door wider for her. She has a bundle tucked under one arm and a mug of something steaming in her free hand. 

“Here - I didn’t - I don’t know if werewolves get cold - I just nuked it in the microwave - but,” she hands him the cup and Isaac takes it with clumsy fingers, looks down at the tiny marshmallows floating at the top. Hot chocolate. Isaac’s brows knit together.

“Oh, do you not like marshmallows?” she asks and Isaac picks his head up, schools his expression into a gentler one. The mug’s warm in his palms and he smiles, then: 

“No, no, thank you, I - I love marshmallows, Mrs. McCall.” 

Scott cranes his neck to look behind her, gives a wounded, “Hey, where’s mine?” 

His mom shoots him a look. “I only have two hands, Scott. It’s downstairs. Here, I brought you a couple towels, Isaac,” she sets the items down on the edge of Scott’s bed as she speaks, “and a washcloth for the shower. A new bar of soap, too, and I don’t - if you want to wash your hair - I’m not sure you’ll like mine, but Scott won’t mind if you use his -”

“I totally won’t dude,” Scott agrees with a solemn nod, and then they’re both staring at Isaac, open and kind and inviting and something cracks in Isaac’s chest and his smile turns wobbly. 

“Uh,” his voice shakes, enough for each of them to hear, and he looks away and takes a sip of his hot chocolate to avoid saying anything else. It’s the perfect temperature. 

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Melissa says, giving Isaac another out. “I have a late start tomorrow, but I’d like to get the extra sleep if I can,” she aims this at Scott, who stands and smiles. 

“Yeah, we’ll be quiet, mom.” He kisses her cheek, and it’s so easy and natural, this affection. Isaac can’t remember the last time someone’s touched him in a way that didn’t make him want to instinctively flinch, aside from the hug Scott’s mother gave him downstairs just a few minutes ago.

(Except - he can. He _can_ , he can, Scott’s never wanted to hurt him, far as Isaac knows. But that’s - he doesn’t think about that. He can’t think about that. It’s not a bad thought, it’s just - unnecessary. 

Complicated.)

Melissa heads off to bed, and Scott bounds down the stairs and comes back up with a mug of hot chocolate of his own. He shuts the door again, heads straight to his dresser to dig through the drawers. 

“You’re taller than me,” he takes a sip of his drink, and Isaac watches him. “But I’m pretty sure everything’ll fit.” 

He throws a wrinkled shirt on the bed, opens another drawer and comes up with a pair of gym shorts and he falters here, looks over at Isaac. “I can probably put your undies in the dryer if you want, but you can free ball it, I don’t even wear these normally -”

“Scott,” Isaac laughs over the rim of his mug, and Scott’s smile is slow to form; he shrugs as cheerfully as a person can when shrugging, and takes a gulp of his hot chocolate. He glances down at it.

“Hey, how many marshmallows did you have in yours?”

“I don’t know.” Isaac sits down on the chair in front of his desk, and teases, “More than you, probably.”

Scott dribbles hot chocolate down his shirt when he laughs, and he’s wiping his mouth as Isaac studies his mug, half-full, now. 

“Hey, so - “

“You can stay as long as you want,” Scott answers promptly. “We have another room - my mom uses it as an office-slash-storage-space thing, but we have an inflatable bed - we can clear everything out after school tomorrow and set you up there.”

“That’s not - thank you,” he clasps his palms tightly around the mug. “I mean - you don’t have to put up with me all the time.”

Scott’s serious for one long, unguarded moment and then he’s smiling quick and bright. “Dude, it’s not putting up with you if I want you around. Don’t you know how friendship works?”

“Debatable,” Isaac says with a self-deprecating smirk. “Haven’t had enough experience to say, really.” Another beat of silence, then: “You might be my best friend, I think.” He chews on the corner of his lip. “Is that weird?”

“Hm,” Scott sets his empty mug down and sprawls across his bed. “No.” He picks himself up on his elbows and grins. “I don’t think Stiles will let me have another boy best friend, but you know. If you can keep a secret, you might be one of mine, too.”

Isaac tries not to smile at his mug of almost-empty hot chocolate, and fails miserably. 

He drains the last of the liquid, scrubs a hand through his still wet hair and stands. “I should shower.”

“Yeah. Bathroom’s next door, I’ll finish my homework while you’re in there.”

“I’ll be quick.”

“Take your time,” he’s heading towards his desk again. “Warm up.”

“I’m not cold,” Isaac tells him once more, and Scott picks up his pen and laughs. 

“Warm up _more_ , then. I’ll see you when you get out.” His mouth quirks up, lopsided as his jaw. “And don’t drown, okay?”

Isaac wasn’t lying: he’s not cold at all anymore, can feel heat thrum in his veins, bloom outward from his chest to every last inch of him, figures it has a little to do with the hot chocolate and a lot more to do with the way Scott’s looking at him.

Isaac smiles and says, “I won’t.”

*

Scott’s reading under the glow of a standing lamp next to his bed when Isaac tiptoes back into the bedroom a half hour later - _The Sirens of Titan_ , and he’s got a wrinkle in his forehead as he mouths along to its words. It’s endearing in this way that makes Isaac want to put his regular clothes on and run out the door without looking back (the thoughts aren’t _bad_ but maybe they aren’t safe, either).

He looks up briefly when Isaac shuts the door, smile on his face, and gestures with the book to the space by the wall. “We’ll be cramped tonight, but it’ll be better tomorrow, promise.”

Isaac stuffs the dirty clothes and linens into Scott’s already-overflowing laundry basket, heads to the bed and pushes a knee onto the edge of it. “I don’t mind,” he says, and it’s - it’s amazing, really, how much he doesn’t mind - this _cramped_ space that’s a hidden blessing, this house that isn’t his home. 

“C’mon,” Scott pats the extra pillow next to him. “I wanna read you something.”

“Yeah?” Isaac crawls up, turns and sits with his back to the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Scott. “What?”

“My favorite part. I,” he startstops, holds up the novel in question and, "do you mind - ?"

Isaac tucks his knees up to his chest and folds his arms around them. "Go for it, McCall."

Scott beams, flips to a page that looks like it's been folded and bookmarked in the corner a dozen times over. He starts to read, and his voice isn't exactly confident, but it's solid and there:

"'You finally fell in love, I see,' said Salo. 'Only an Earthling year ago,' said Constant. 'It took us that long -'"

He pauses, glances up at Isaac. "It took us that long to realize that a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.' I thought it was cool. Isn't it? It's -"

His smile softens, and he says carefully, "It _resonated_ with me," and if Isaac remembers correctly, that's last Tuesday's word of the day.

Isaac feels set in stone, sitting there. He’s afraid to breathe - afraid to do much more than nod and croak out a _yeah_. 

“Anyway, I just wanted -” Scott waves the novel around, and something falls out of it and onto the mussed up blanket between them. A photo, folded over more than the dog-eared pages of Scott’s book: Scott and Allison, smiling, happy. 

(Together.)

Isaac picks it up with mindful fingers, and Scott lets the book fall into his lap. Isaac glances at him - he’s not smiling, not doing anything except staring. 

“Right,” he says, and clears his throat and takes the photo when Isaac holds it out. “I forgot that was in there.”

Isaac’s gnawing on the corner of his lip again, and he asks, “Do you miss her?” because he apparently can’t stop himself from asking awkward questions tonight. And it’s - it’s stupid, because they’re still - they still talk, she’s still _around_ , but she’s not - they’re not _them_ anymore, allisonandscott, star-crossed lovers without the verbose sonnets and ill-advised suicide pact. 

And that’s odd, too, because Isaac’s - he’s not sure what’s happening with Allison, but he looks at her now and it’s - it’s the same way she looks at him - it’s wariness, yes, but a curiosity as well, a need to know what Scott sees in each of them. Because for all their differences, he’s chosen to safeguard them in ways beyond his normal instincts: there are people Scott will actually die for without a second thought, and that list is short (his mom, Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski if only for what it would mean if Stiles lost him too) and Isaac sometimes wonders if along with Allison he’s somehow crept his way up the list and under Scott’s skin.

Something’s shifted between Isaac and Allison, weighed them down to each other, and he’s spent most of his time since school started up again pretending that what tethers them together _isn’t_ the person inches from him, currently.

“We should go to bed,” Scott says softly instead of answering - or maybe that’s an answer in and of itself. He tucks the photo back into the book, closes it and sets it on his bedside table. Isaac gets under the covers, and Scott reaches up to shut off the light before doing the same; they’re bathed in darkness, and it’s still raining, still thundering and raising lightning every few minutes. 

Scott turns so he’s facing the window and Isaac lies on his back and stares up at the ceiling until Scott rolls over and nudges him in the shoulder. Isaac shifts to look at him - there’s a flash of lightning, but he doesn’t need it to see Scott’s frown, clear as anything.

“I do, and I don’t,” he answers, finally. “It’s - it’s hard to explain. We let each other go, and it was okay - it wasn’t okay, but I figured maybe it would be because I thought, you know, I thought we’d always get back together in the end. But now I’m not so sure.”

“You don’t want to?”

“Didn’t say that - it’s like, some people just never have the timing down properly, right? Her dad didn’t want us together, Derek doesn’t want us together, it’s - there’s all these things pulling us in opposite directions and it’s - it hurts. And it sort of feels like none of it’s ever gonna stop.”

Isaac wonders if Scott’s talked about this with anyone who isn’t Stiles and then - no, no why would he? Stiles is his brother, Stiles would know, but why would Scott tell anyone else. Scott’s studying the space between them, adjusts his pillow under his head. “It feels too much for high school sometimes. Too much for sixteen. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” Isaac tells him over another rumble of thunder. “It can’t be stupid if it means something to you.”

“You know that - that,” Scott stops, bites his lip and: “‘Love whoever is around to be loved’ - she’s here, but she’s not _here_ , you know? I love her so much but she can’t be around me the way I want her to be, the way she wants, if she even _does_ still -”

( _Not_ loving Scott seems defective, somehow, so Isaac doubts her feelings have changed all that much.)

“I don’t want it to be so hard.” Scott’s voice is barely audible over the sound of the rain beating against the window - over the sound of his heartbeat in Isaac’s ears - and he lifts the shoulder not dug into the mattress. “It shouldn’t be this hard.”

And Isaac - Isaac doesn’t know what to say to that. 

_Great loves always seem like they are -_

_But maybe it’d be easy with me -_

Isaac licks his lips and says, “You’re my emergency contact.”

Scott cocks his head against his pillow. "What?"

"In case anything - you know, if this life - ever like, lands me in the hospital. I put - the last time I was there, before the Alpha shit, I put you down."

"Oh." His frown flickers into a hesitant smile. "Really?"

"Yeah."

“Oh,” he repeats, and it’s quiet, a little awed. “That’s - I feel like I should say thank you, but maybe _that’s_ weird?”

Isaac chuckles, “Yeah, maybe.”

“But it’s - it’s good.” His eyes are crinkling up. “Like - I hope I really don’t have to get called again, but I - you’re important to me, and I want you to be safe, so it’s...”

He trails off and lifts his shoulder again. There’s a pause, a sudden stillness between them, and Isaac breathes in a feeling of _calm_ and _belonging_. Scott laughs for no reason - nothing is funny - and it’s hushed, bright in the dreary-themed night and he nudges his knee against Isaac’s. His face is half-buried in his pillow, the apple of one cheek lifted up into a gentle smile and sometimes

Sometimes Isaac looks at Scott and thinks _what if_ and maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s misplaced, maybe it’s just because Scott’s one of the few people who has never given Isaac a reason to distrust, to fear, to _run_ but he looks at Scott and he wants - 

Well. He just. _Wants_.

Lots of things - but also - also -

"I wish you were my Alpha."

The confession comes out in a whisper, and Scott's brow furrows; he shifts closer, curls his fingers around Isaac's wrist.

"Don't say that."

His thumb’s against Isaac’s pulse point, and Isaac wills the beat not to betray him. "Why not?"

Scott doesn’t respond.

Isaac presses, "Are you really that afraid of leading us?"

"I'm afraid of leading you to your _deaths_. I’m not going to be the reason anyone else dies. I can’t - I can’t let you die - any of you die. I won’t.”

“You’ll have more power.”

“I don’t want power,” Scott says tiredly, gaze focused on where his hand is still wrapped around Isaac’s wrist; he tightens his grip. Isaac shivers - he hasn’t been cold in hours, but he shivers.

“It doesn’t always corrupt - it won’t with you. You don’t have to abuse it.” Isaac ducks his head to catch Scott’s eye. “Scott, you’re so good, you can change so many things.”

Scott’s smiling again, but there’s no amused tilt to it, this time. “Do you know how many times I go to sleep and wish that everything will be normal again when I wake up, like - like how it was before any of this started?”

“I -” Isaac laughs, and it’s sharp, a reminder: “I know what that feels like, Scott.”

“I know you do,” he says, subdued. “And I hate that - but you don’t - you don’t _need_ me to lead you, you don’t need me to, to do anything.”

“But what if I want you to?” He turns his wrist until Scott looks at him. “Derek says that the bite is a gift. But what if I can choose what I do next for once? You did.”

“That was different. Isaac, Derek’s your -”

“Derek kicked me out without caring where I ended up tonight and he won’t even tell me why. He’s kept so many things from me and he _is_ my Alpha but I don’t trust him and that’s not - that’s not how this is supposed to work. That’s not how _pack_ works. You’re supposed to have faith in your leader. You’re not supposed to feel like a chore to them. A liability.”

“Isaac.”

It’s a murmur - Isaac’s not sure if it’s pleading or _tired_ , but he twists his fingers until they’re linked with two of Scott’s, barely held together. 

“I - I’m just saying. All this, all this werewolf - shit. You can’t return the gift,” Isaac says wryly. “But you - you chose once. You chose to _not_ choose, really. And if I - if I could, if I get the chance - I’d choose you.”

The silence after that goes on long enough that Isaac almost gives up and faces the wall but then Scott breathes out a sigh and his fingers twitch, curl tighter around Isaac’s. His thumb sweeps along Isaac’s wrist and he says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Scott nods against his pillow and lets go of Isaac’s hand. He folds in - doesn’t turn his body towards the window again, but folds in tight, arms covering his chest like a shield. He still hasn’t looked away from Isaac.

“I’m glad you came here tonight. You - maybe it’ll be better here.” 

“It will be,” Isaac says, and it feels like the truth. 

Scott’s mouth quirks up in the corner, for just a moment, and then he closes his eyes and settles in. “Night now? School tomorrow.”

“Yeah, right.” Isaac doesn’t turn to face the wall, but he does shut his eyes, too. He’s nearly drifting off, lulled by Scott’s breathing, the rain outside, the _whirring_ of the computer in the corner, but he doesn’t miss the fingers dragging against his forearm and a whispered 

_If I had a pack, I’d want you in it_.

(Isaac falls asleep smiling for the first time in years.)

*

He wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of pancakes and bacon. The alarm clock reads 7:27 - they’ve still got a half hour before they’ll risk being late - and he contemplates going back to sleep before he hears Scott laughing downstairs. Isaac slides out of bed, grabs his phone that Scott must’ve put on the charger last night while he was showering, and heads down.

When Isaac finally stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with both fists, he’s greeted by the overly cheery McCall family sitting at the table.

“Dude!” Scott laughs again as Isaac sits down. “Nice bed head.”

Isaac tries to tamp down his curls, decides he doesn’t care and huffs out a laugh. “Whatever, McCall. You wish you had this bounce.”

“Yeah.” Scott sighs wistfully, and then promptly forgets to feign amazement when his mom sets down a plate in front of him. 

“Sweet, chocolate chips!”

“Like you couldn’t smell them,” Melissa says, and Scott picks up a fork and looks up at her with wide eyes.

“Mom, it’s chocolate chips in my pancakes, I will always be this intense about chocolate chips in my pancakes.”

She rolls her eyes - good-naturedly, as are all things the two of them do - and picks up two more plates from the kitchen counter. She sets one down in front of her, the other goes to Isaac.

“You like bacon, right?” she asks and he looks down at his pancakes and bites back a grin.

She’s broken up the bacon on top of his stack of pancakes, shaped it like a smile with two dollops of syrup for eyes above the pieces. 

“I thought you start late today?”

Melissa shrugs and sits down; she hands him a fork and smiles. “I wanted to make you breakfast before you headed to school.”

“ _’anks, ma_ ,” Scott tells her, mouth full, and she rolls up a napkin and throws it at his nose; Scott’s nice enough to not use his _super special_ werewolf abilities to bat it away. Melissa’s eyes are happy and light when she nods to Isaac.

“Did you sleep well?”

Isaac swallows before answering: “I slept great, yeah. Thank you.”

“Scott and I were talking - I’ll clear out the storage room before I leave today, so all you’ll have to do when you get back is set up the airbed. Scott can show you where it is. Maybe we can shop for a proper mattress in a few weeks -”

“The, the inflatable is fine, really, Mrs. -”

“Melissa,” she interrupts, “and let me help. Please?”

Isaac looks down at his pancakes. “Alright.”

“Excellent! Scott, I’m leaving you the keys to the car so you can drive to school -”

“Isaac can ride on the back of my bike, I’ll give him my helmet -”

“ _No_ ,” Melissa says simply. “You’re taking the car - I want it back right after school so I can get to work later.”

Scott teases, “Aw, mom, you don’t wanna take my bike to work?”

“Right after school, Scott.”

“Fine, fine.” He shoves another forkful of pancakes in his mouth and stands. “We should get ready then, don’t wanna be late.”

“My son,” she says dryly - even though Isaac can hear the proud lilt to her voice, knows Scott can, too, “the model student.”

Scott kisses his cheek and says, “You know it. I’ll be right back!”

“Finish eating,” Melissa tells Isaac, patting his hand, and he’s pouring more syrup over his pancakes when she adds, “You can stay as long as you want, okay? As long as you need to.”

“ _Co-signed_!” Scott shouts from his bedroom, and Melissa yells back up, “Stop listening in!”

Scott barks. Isaac hides a snort behind his forkful of food.

“As long as you want, no matter how much Scott will try to annoy you.”

“ _I resent that_!”

“Scott,” Melissa calls out loudly, half a reprimand, half a laugh.

Isaac’s phone beeps on the table. He picks it up with his free hand - it’s a text, from Scott:

_The only thing I will annoy u with is LOVE lahey!!!!!!!!!!_

_:)_

Isaac licks syrup from the corner of his mouth and rises with his plate. “I should get dressed, too. Do I -”

“I can wash it,” she takes it from him, still seated, and _shoos_ him towards Scott’s bedroom. “Go, get ready.”

Isaac takes the stairs two at a time.

*

They’re rushing towards the door twenty minutes later, Isaac with an old, borrowed bookbag from Scott; Scott throws his arms around his mother’s neck as he passes her, quick, plants another sloppy kiss to her cheek. 

“Bye! Love you,” and he’s heading down the stairs and towards the car, and Isaac waves awkwardly and makes it just past the threshold before Melissa pulls him to a stop by the strap of his bag. He goes into the hug easily, expecting it, this time around; stoops his shoulders and tucks his head into the crook of her neck.

“Thank you,” he says, again, and she steps back and fixes his hair. 

She smiles. “It’ll be okay.”

“Isaac,” Scott honks impatiently from the driver’s side. “Hurry up, we’re gonna be late!”

Melissa laughs, and gestures towards the porch. “Go. Have a good day at school.”

Isaac heads down the steps, hands in his pockets, and the door shuts softly behind him. He makes it to the pathway before he turns and takes it in, this family, this building, and it’s -

It’s not home.

But God, it’s so close.


End file.
